The Prisoner

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Jan 15, 2012

My name is Daniel Thompson. I’m sixteen years old and at the moment I live in an alley in New York City between the Domino’s pizza and the border of Chinatown with my German shepherd. Don’t bother looking there now, because by the time you get there I’ll be gone. I’m always running from The Corporation, a facility hell-bent on making humans stronger, faster, and smarter by using cruel methods and drugs.
The massive amount of people in the city makes it harder for my pursuers to find me and capture me again. Some places where I hide, I can’t go outside to get air because I’ll be found. In those times I have to hack and choke on the stagnant air and dust.

Why are they chasing me, you ask? Why must I hide, you say?

It’s because I’m the only one who’s escaped.

This may be too much for all of this to be hurled at you at once, but if you hear my story I believe you’ll understand.

My story began back in my apartment, a couple years after I was born. Actually it began before I was born. Back in the late 80’s my father was part of an organization called G.H.A.S.T. (Global Help, Assassinations and Sabotage Team) similar to the U.S. Rangers. They were the second defense for the Rangers because they were the elite of the elite. In an extreme mission to stop the North Koreans from letting loose a nuclear war with the Southern Koreans, G.H.A.S.T. learned about their military training. The soldiers were trained since birth and if one of them wasn’t effective enough in the fight they would be put to death.
After G.H.A.S.T. took care of the operation, word was leaked about North Korea’s intense training and people around the globe began to start doing what the North Koreans did. Most of the facilities were taken down and only a few of the facilities remained as long as they promised not to hurt or harm anybody in their experiments.
Unfortunately, they didn’t keep their promise.
Out of all of the facilities to be taken down only one of the facilities stayed in business.
The Corporation.
They had succeeded in breeding a soldier who had enhanced strength, speed, and knowledge with a chemical they called Beta 7. But it wasn’t enough for them to have only one man in the war so they killed him, took his blood, and began testing Beta 7 on infants in different secret places spreading the operation to reduce being discovered and executed.
That’s where I come in. I was born a small baby, about 4 lbs and 16 in. tall. My father, not knowing of The Corporation’s real intentions, contacted them to get them to treat me with Beta 7, thinking it would make me safer. So, at the age of six, G.H.A.S.T. agents broke into our apartment in L.A. and stole me out of my mother’s hands, and executed her.
I remember that day like it was yesterday. Men in black ballistic vests broke in through the window, swinging in from the opposite building with M14s drawn. My mother screamed as the M14s were being pointed at everyone in the room. The men were trying to quiet my mother down to stop raising alarm in the rest of the apartment so they tried to tie her up. While the men were trying to tie up my mom she broke free and began to attack the agents. She had managed to smash one over the head with our TV and stabbing another in the shoulder with a kitchen knife. Finally a man had managed to keep my mother quiet by pulling out a menacing black gun and pointing it between her eyes. I didn’t hear the bullet escape because my mother screamed at that instant, but I saw her fly back into the wall with a bullet in her forehead.
After that it was all a blur. I was packed into the back of a van and taken to an isolated place that I now know is located on the western part of the Aleutian Islands.
There I was fed and raised and trained until I was six. Then the treatments of Beta 7 began.
I was fed on a different diet that included dangerous drugs that dulled my mind and then, when I was unconscious, I was injected with small amounts of Beta 7, trying to make me the super killer I was meant to be. The problem was my physical structure would reject large amounts of the Beta 7 chemical that would make me stronger and kill me.
Good news and bad news.
Bad news, I had to stay here longer in my cell.
Good news, I got to live for another four years until I was bigger and stronger.
So, anyway, I can’t tell you the story all in one day and I have to move. I’m thinking I might keep with the city idea and travel to Cincinnati. Also, I’ve put thought into it and named the dog Rudy.



Jan 21, 2012


Instead of another alley, I’m living in a motel under the name Jonathan Alexander. Thankfully this one accepts dogs and I can write I peace because there are only two other residents here.

Okay, ignore that, back to the story. After my four years of weight lifting, and growing, the injections began again, only this time, there were no painkillers.

In the middle of the night I would be hauled out of bed and taken to the lab for treatments. On many occasions I would wake up while they were injecting me with Beta 7. I would scream and yell. It didn’t do any good for me to panic because the doctor would just say, “it doesn’t hurt that bad. Just put on your big boy pants and get over it.” It was then I decided that he would be the first to die when I escaped.

Over the next few months, I could feel my body becoming stronger and I could exercise without strain even though my physical image didn’t change. I was also feeling myself getting smarter too. Math became useful and I learned how to speak three languages fluently over the next few months. I watched movies and memorized the whole scripts of each character.

Over the next year I was smarter than most of the staff and I knew I was going to be examined again to see how the injections of Beta 7 went.

As I suspected, I was taken to the lab the next day by the doctor in the middle of the night again. But, right as we were walking down hall to the experimenting room, there was an explosion and I was thrown backwards into the wall. My vision turned blurry and black spots danced before my eyes.

As I stood up, I realized that the whole lab was on fire. Flames scorched my face as the sprinklers came on. Shakily I moved away from the fire, but I was pushed from behind. My head whipped around and I saw the doctor, a bloody burn mark on his face, with a six bullet Python pistol. Using the skills I’d learned from the James Bond movies I’d watched, I stepped forward, kicked the gun up in the air and used my elbow to hit the doctor in the neck. He slumped to his knees but fought to stay up.

I let him stand, then, suddenly, he struck out with his fist. Using a technique I’d learned from a Bruce Lee movie I sidestepped and snapped his arm then applied a sharp jab to his solar plexus.

The doctor slumped to the ground out cold.

With no one else in my way, I rushed to the exit door at the end of the hall and flung it open. For the first time in nine years, I took a look at the world.





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